Warm & Fuzzy
by Tiera-Tarie
Summary: Artie, I could have sworn I felt your leg move… well, not move... twitch... I felt it!


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the show "Glee" or its characters. This is strictly an entertainment endeavor, no monetary gain intended and all that...

**Spoilers: **ep. 1.01-13

_In celebration for the Glee's upcoming return... I'm super hyped for the first season's second half (what?) on April 13th._ YEAH!

**A/N:** This fic was written months ago, I wrote it around Winter Break when I was reintroduced to "Glee" and fell in LOVE. Artie is one of my favorite characters, so I wrote about him and Tina... but the fic got bigger and expanded to other characters (I even got a title for it). This is just a one-shot for now, plus I want to see how the back end episodes transpire before I go setting stuff in stone... But i hope you guys enjoy, I appreciate concrite.

l..l,

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_**Warm & Fuzzy**_

Tina arrived at his house on a late Wednesday afternoon as per their unspoken agreement. The winding road of their undefined relationship had hit a speed bump when Tina told him her speech impediment was all a ruse; that she was just shy and used a stutter as a defense to evade the daunting motions of social interaction. It wasn't until she found her calling as a cherished member of their school's show choir – _New Directions_ – and kissed him, that she came clean. He'd been hurt to have been lied to for so long, what with their friendship going back to middle school, and told her as much. He wished he could lie about being rendered useless without his wheelchair, but the truth was evident every waking minute from the time he woke up to the time he went to bed at night.

He didn't make it easy for Tina to get back into his good graces those following days. She tried desperately to curry favor and he shunned her at every turn: ignoring her phone calls and not giving her so much as a wave in the school halls, or avoiding eye contact at lunch. It was reminiscent of his life, actually. Outside of glee and Jazz Club, his classmates liked to believe he didn't exist, because that would be easier than acknowledging his obvious handicap... Teachers, constantly belittling him, spoke to him in soft, disarming tones as if he were incapable of simple comprehension as well as standing; they send him home when he rolls into class drenched in blue, sticky, artificial, slushy juice, unbidden pity always set on their face.

Tina saw he was like everyone else from the get-go. Soon, he realized this wasn't the way you treated someone you had passionate feelings for, who may have lied but was trying so hard to make things right.

The following Thursday at glee practice he turned to her with a sheepish smile and asked to borrow her pencil to make a mark on his sheet music, and she beamed at him and compiled readily, for that was the most he'd spoken to her all week; and in a roundabout way, his acquiesce. All was forgiven in that moment.

So their Wednesday night rendezvous' were reinstated. Sometimes they did homework or worked on one of Mr. Schue's songs for Sectionals, lately they've just been making out, accompanied by some heavy petting.

When he opened the door for Tina this day, he didn't expect to see her in shambles. Her eyes were puffy and she looked as if she'd run all the way to his doorstep as her black t-shirt clad chest heaved up and down. She walked into the foyer without being asked, at his look of concern she burst into a fresh bout of tears.

"I just had a fight w-with my parents. They've been filling out college applications for me behind my back. They hate that I want to sing… They want me to go to school to be a lawyer - like them! Oh, Artie, they're h-horrible people!" and she folds herself onto his lap, hugging him tightly around the neck, her thighs drape over the armrest. He instinctively hugs her back and his wheelchair rolls back, bouncing off the closed door ineffectually.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into her shiny black hair, she accessorized it with blue extensions today, which only made her real hair look even blacker –if such a thing were possible. "Tina, I'm so sorry." He keeps telling her as they just sit in his foyer, her sobs subsiding gradually.

Tina pulls back and sniffs, her round face cracks and suddenly she's smiling toothily at him, stray tears still escaping her dark eyes. He returns the smile cautiously and lifts a half-gloved hand to thumb away the tears.

"You always make me feel better, Artie." She says coyly.

"I could say the same for you." Artie tells her without missing a beat, and her face flushes in such a cute way. He pulls her in for another hug and she pecks at his cheek playfully, jostling his glasses in the process.

Tina slides and unconsciously wiggles in his lap, promptly distracting him in a carnal way. He's doing some of his own blushing and pretends he's hugging her again when he's actually stilling her attempt to adjust her position over him. It wouldn't do to get aroused when he was trying to be a good friend, or whatever they were. "I'm s-sorry to burden you with my baggage."

It takes Artie a minute to comprehend what she's saying, and the two ways it can be perceived. He knows it's safer to take the statement at face value.

"I'm more than happy to carry part of that load on my shoulders, you know." Once it's out his mouth, he winces at how corny it sounded, but Tina smiles nonetheless.

"Thanks," she whispers and closes the distance between them. Her lips are soft and salty from the tears, her tongue sweet as she deepens the kiss.

He groans, but not in pleasure. Tina jumps back in mild alarm, "Did I hurt you?" she asks warily, and gets to her feet, taking her warmth with her, to his chagrin.

Artie rubs the spot on his thigh where he felt a strange prick of pain. Sometimes he got these jolts of sensation in the dormant (read: dead) nerves of his legs, the tingle was gone as fast as it came, leaving him to believe he'd imagined the feeling.

"I'm okay," he tells her, but Tina doesn't look reassured. "Come on," he rolls his wheelchair down the hall, maneuvering into his room expertly. Tina appears in the doorway not long after and enters, shutting the door behind her.

Artie's room has a neat edge to it, so much so it's almost surgical. His mom sees to it that his room stays organized and tidy, but not at his request. He can pretty much perform everyday tasks independently because he has a special cane to unhook clothes from the closet and no clutter on the floor in danger of getting tangled in his wheels. The most common assumption people made about him was that he was adverse to help with household tasks. He was proud, not stupid.

Case in point, Tina hurried over and held his chair as he lifted himself up and onto his bed, he used all of his upper body strength to drag his limp legs the rest of the way onto the comforter. Once she saw Artie could manage, placing his back against the headboard, she moved to his stereo with an air that she'd made herself at home here lots of times. She attached her mp3 player to the radio and programmed it for shuffle. The airy croon of Sade emitted from the speakers and "By Your Side" filled the silence.

"...I don't want to think about my parents." Tina said mostly to herself. She kicked off her Converse shoes as she padded toward the bed, hopping onto the mattress. "I mean… screw them if they can't support me in what I love."

Artie just tried to look attentive; he knew Tina _did _care about what her parents thought of her. She was settling at the end of the bed opposite him now, her legs parallel to his, she made quick work or untying his own Converse and placing them on the floor beside the bed.

Then, Tina's cheeks reddened, she looked anxious, he didn't have to ask what she was thinking because she'd decided to act on it. She positioned herself between his open knees in the next second, one leg on either side of his hips.

"Are you scared to tell me what you're thinking?" Tina asked, teasing a bit. She was always more talkative when no one else was around.

"I think you'll make more money as a lawyer, than as one of many singers trying to make it big." Artie stated truthfully, he stripped off his gloves and lifted her foot into his hands. After removing her black and blue striped sock he began to gently message her ankle, knowing she'd probably walked several blocks from her house to his.

Tina was too mesmerized by her foot in his care to comment, so he added, "…but singing is what makes you happy. And you'd suck as a lawyer," they laughed at his obvious jest and because it was true, "…and you'd be miserable."

Tina only nodded in agreement, Artie was pressing his fingers along her instep in what he hoped was a pleasant way.

The Sade song came to a close and another soft tempo eclectic tune arose, Artie knew Tina's player was chalked full of mellow, guitar and string-accompanied ballads, a sharp contrast to the brazen goth chick she tried to put off to the outside world.

"Earlier…" Tina began, and Artie glanced up at her face and smirked. Her eyes were half-closed as she struggled to form a sentence. He moved to her other foot in the meantime. "In the hall… I could have sworn I felt your leg move… well, not move... twitch," she confessed dramatically.

Artie stopped kneading the ball of her foot, looking mortified.

Tina waved her hands between them, as if erasing what she'd said. "No, not _that_," and at this glanced down at his lap and up to his face quickly, blushing profusely. "I thought it was that, at first… but –your leg _moved_. I felt it!"

Artie gaped at her. She wasn't making any sense – he was a paraplegic for crying out loud. His fingers idly rubbed the pads of her toes, just to give him something to do.

"I'm not pulling your– look, I know what I felt." She finished hurriedly.

Something Artie had read about occurred to him. "Do you know what Phantom Limb Syndrome is?"

"No." Tina said instantly.

Artie thought for a moment about the article he'd found describing this phenomenon before he explained, "Sometimes amputees feel sensations, most commonly pain but not always, originating from the missing appendage. It's their mind that still thinks the arm or leg exists, giving off the feeling that the stubbed body part is... moving in tandem with its mate." He chanced a look at her and saw she was listening intently. "Just imagine coming home from Iraq with a 'honorable discharge' because your leg's been blown off after a roadside bomb exploded below you... and out of the blue you have the tingly urge to kick something you virtually can't anymore."

"But… you're not an a-amputee." Tina piped.

"I'm not?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't like it when you talk like that."

"Sorry my being an invalid offends you."

"No, Artie, that's not what I meant…" and when she saw his crooked smirk she knew he was joking, at least in part, she sighed huffily; then inquired meekly: "So, can you... make your toes twitch or something?"

"Nothing that spectacular: I don't feel a thing. I'm thinking what you felt was a catch 22." He said dismissively, focusing hard on the music and trying to force himself not to think about what it would feel like to walk again.

"Can you feel my hand?" Without thinking, Tina slid her hand up his pant leg and gently ran her fingers down his shin and through the tiny hairs there.

To humor her, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on where her hand was. "Not a thing," he said after a beat.

Not deterred, she moved her hand higher, biting her lip at her own lascivious actions. At the junction of his knee the bunched pants impeded her advance, so she moved to run her fingers slowly above the jeans along his thigh.

Heat was pooling at the base of his abdomen. He watched with bated breath as her small hand crept towards his groin area, a spot where he mercifully still had feeling.

Tina, losing her nerve at the last minute, retracted her hand. She'd gone and gotten them both worked up and couldn't touch him there.

"S-s-sorry." She intoned, not faking the stutter.

Artie thought he made a noncommittal noise but he couldn't be sure, he looked down and saw that he was still holding her foot in his hand, and before she could tug it free he brought it to his mouth.

Tina gasped. Shockingly, her big toe seemed to be directly wired to her private regions. Artie sucked on the digit a few times, all the while eliciting sexy sounds from Tina. He took his other hand and hooked it behind her knee. He let her toe slide out of his mouth with one last flick from the pad of his tongue, and using both hands around her knees, pulled her up the bed to straddle him.

With renewed passion, Tina attacked his mouth with hers, in her eagerness she tipped his glasses off his nose, so she took them off and flung them at the nightstand next to the bed, she couldn't be bothered to make sure the lenses weren't cracked.

Artie managed to get a hand under her shirt. He slid his hands down her back and around to her stomach, to affectionately touch her breasts through her bra. Tina let out a surprised squeak when he brushed his thumbs over her nipples.

They'd never been this forward with one another, the pent-up emotions he thought were inappropriate to feel towards her became unfounded when she matched his frenzied kisses with just as much enthusiasm. He felt his shirt being pulled out of his jeans, the bottom buttons being opened, and his suspenders being pushed off his lanky shoulders.

Artie tweaked and squeezed her breasts until her nipples stabbed his palms; he was beginning to ache with anticipation at finally seeing her in the flesh.

"That feels awe-some…" Tina breathed against his neck, she'd pulled his collar down and was lightly sucking at the skin just above his collarbone.

Artie gave a guttural chuckle at her words, his mind was buzzing with the heady scent of her hair and his own desire quickening his pulse, pounding in his ears.

He helped her out of her shirt and she unfastened the rest of his shirt buttons, the garment and suspenders joining the growing pile on the floor. Her hair was an impenetrable black curtain over half her face, and they took in each other's bodies. Artie marveled at how the creamy mounds of her chest rose and fell and then reached around to unhook the deep purple bra, he sucked in a breath...

Fittingly enough, in a momentary lapse from the euphoria, he realized he was hearing Al Green's beguiling, half-singing falsetto piping through the speakers. He felt compelled to echo the icon's sentiment:

"_You're simply beautiful_…"

Tina's face flushed a profuse shade of red and her will caved, she moved to cover her nakedness and his hands shot out to stop her.

"…_Simply beautiful_…"

Tina laughed nervously. "Shut up and kiss me."

"No." Artie refused with a smirk. He casually put his hands on her waist and squeezed. He had a fleeting thought of grasping her curves so hard she'd have his fingerprints embedded in her lovely skin for days; he never wanted to let her go. "Anybody ever tell you it's polite to accept a compliment?"

Tina was blushing so hard she looked like a tomato; her eyes avoided his as she mumbled under her breath, "I don't think I'm beautiful."

Artie furrowed his thick brows in bafflement, "You're the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen," he told her in earnest. He took his hands away from her to brace them on the bed as he scooted down, Tina wordlessly followed suit. After some adjustments, she ended up lying atop of his prone form, her head resting on his chest as he rubbed her bare expanse of her back. The whole thing felt oddly platonic and affectionate, given that both of them were topless. Their fervor to jump the other's bones was doused by Tina's insecurities, or just put on the back-burner for now. They lied in companionable silence as song after song piped through the radio; he kissed the crown of her black hair and traced random patterns on her skin, her weight and softness a welcome distraction from his inner monologue. Sometimes he quietly sung along to the music, serenading her. Sometimes he'd softly strum imaginary guitar cords on her back, comforting her.

Understandably, it would be remiss to feel bummed that they weren't having sex right now, plus Tina's feelings were more important… but he couldn't help the dull stirring of arousal simmering deep inside him. He tried to get his breathing in check before Tina got the idea she was feeling his "leg" twitch again.

"Thank you, Artie." Tina said, continuing the conversation as if it never was dropped, something in her voice changed in that instant. She lifted herself to rest her forearms on either side of his head, her small but proportionate chest brushing against his as she moved. She kissed him tenderly, he obliged, burying a hand in her hair, effectively deepening the kiss.

A song with a melody reminiscent of a musical jewelry box began, just as their make-out was hitting a fever pitch. The music soared around them, its lyrics caressing them:

_You put my feet back on the ground / Did you know you brought me around? / You are sweet, and you are sound... _

_You saved me..._

"Tina…" Artie gulped, coming up from their intense lip-lock, he didn't know how their positions had changed and he was halfway on top of her, or when his hand had plunged into her jeans to touch her through her cotton underwear, with her moving her hips against his hand – he didn't question it, though. "Let me make love to you… please."

Tina regarded him through heavy-lidded eyes; he pressed his middle finger against the source of the wetness between her legs, making her whimper.

"Artiiee…" she hissed, throwing her head back into the pillows, her thighs squeezing around his wrist. He watched in awe as her mouth formed an 'O' just before her toes curled and she shook sporadically and the first orgasm he'd ever given a girl wrought her body. Her body rippled with an aftershock, and he filed away the look of uninhibited pleasure on her face for later rumination in his dreams.

He had a chance to gloat at his handiwork (no pun intended) as Tina slowly regained the use of her limbs. She finally looked up at him and grinned like the cat that got the canary, and quickly hid her face in his shoulder.

"Go to my dresser and open the top drawer." He whispered in her ear, his voice was understandably thick with need. Tina came up to give him a quick peck on the lips before rising from the bed. Once she was sure she could put one foot in front of the other, she followed his instructions. The drawer held undershirts and socks; the condom's foil packaging glinted in the sparse lamplight, wedged between a pair of tube socks.

Tina didn't have to ask to know this was what she was sent to get.

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**A/N** Will they or won't they?

Go to my profile and my LJ link to get the playlist for this fic! (sorry for the runaround)


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